


a slow dance

by anupturnedboat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Future Fic, Graduation, Lydia-centric, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, RIP Allison Argent, beacon hills high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anupturnedboat/pseuds/anupturnedboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three rows back Stiles slumps in his folding chair. His knee is doing that bounce bounce thing under his graduation gown, and she wants to elbow him in the ribs. Or maybe kiss the nervousness off his lips. </p>
            </blockquote>





	a slow dance

The thing is - they don’t die. 

They don’t die, despite the blood and guts and all the signs reading keep out.

They don’t save the world either.  They don’t even save very many lives except for their own. And that’s just barely, and with scars that will never heal.

Their graduating class is a lot smaller than it should be. That is how Martin is next to McCall, instead of two seats apart.  The lacrosse fields’ springy new grass covers graves that everyone is already forgetting about (not Lydia, she trades in ghosts and graves now). Scott bumps her knee with his like he’s reminding her to be in this moment, instead of lingering in the past.  She slides her fingers into his and grips them tight. For a moment, she imagines a dark haired girl sitting in the stands, grinning like crazy.

They don’t die, so she’s going to Stanford.

But first, a slow summer and a few loose ends she’s yet to tie up.

Three rows back Stiles slumps in his folding chair. His knee is doing that bounce bounce thing under his graduation gown, and she wants to elbow him in the ribs. _Or maybe kiss the nervousness off his lips_.  She’s not sure when she first started thinking about his lips, but there it is, a nagging urge under her skin.

He’s still got bags under his eyes, and she knows that maybe he got the worst of it. That maybe of all of them he’s changed the most.

They toss their caps into a sun-kissed blue sky and Scott whoops and lifts Lydia off her feet.  There are sudden tears building up under her lashes that she flicks away as Malia wraps her arms around them both.  Kira kisses Scott on the cheek and whispers something in his ear.  Stiles gets to them last, and Scott handshake hugs him into the fold.  Stiles steps on her toes and rests his hand on her hip.

They're all smiling like loons, and Lydia’s heart is _full_. She knows that she will never be a part of anything as powerful, as vital as this ever again.

They all breathe for a moment.  They didn’t die.

Friends and family make a larger circle around them, but before they get swept away, Lydia reaches out for Scott with one hand and Stiles with the other.  And the thing is, there _are_ ghosts, she feels them pass through them. The three of them have come a long way, and this isn’t even the ending.  It makes Lydia feel giddy like her head is brushing against the stars like her fingers are skimming destiny.

She’s got time before the celebratory dinner with her mother tonight, so she ends up waiting out the crowd in the parking lot. She takes in what she knows will be the last of her time at Beacon Hills High. She pulls her gown over her head and hangs it back on the hanger behind the driver’s seat. She scans the parking lot, even though she knows there’s no jeep ( _she has this overwhelming sensation that she might always look for that damn jeep_ ). 

There is still a Stiles though, and it makes her heart leap against her ribcage when he spots her and perks up, bounds across the parking lot, his gown flapping ridiculously.

"You're still here," he says breathlessly, tossing his diploma back and forth.  His nervousness makes her feel jumpy.

"You too," she says smoothing her skirt awkwardly, it's been a long time since they were alone together without a tragedy in between.

"You're not getting sentimental about this place are you?” he asks.

His gaze makes her squirm. She raises a brow, "I think you missed your ride," she says avoiding his question, a lump in her throat.  "What are you up to anyway?”

"Something I forgot," he fumbles not quite meeting her eyes.

She wonders what that means, but she has secrets too, so she lets it go.  He smiles at her then, careful, tender.  He's about to say something, maybe something she wants to hear, but maybe not.  Time is short, too short not to hold onto the important things. That is something she has learned in such a hard way. And Stiles is intrinsic to her life now, he has to know before they all go their separate ways.

"I'm going to miss you," she says as fast as she can, fighting back something that tastes like fear and exhilaration, “the most, more than anything else in Beacon Hills.” She hates the wild pitch in her voice, the uncontrollable beat of her heart.

He gawks at her for a long moment. "Stanford is close, 248 miles," he mutters running is hand through his hair. "Not that I've counted exactly, so approximately, but we should know exactly how far in case something supernatural comes up and-”

"Stiles?" She cuts him off, reaching for his arm, because he's rambling now, and she's never been patient.  And she has to know. Does he feel this too?

"Yeah?" he sputters sounding hoarse, his Adam's apple bobbing. The sun will be setting soon, and the parking lot is empty, and it feels like time is moving too fast and too slow. 

“Stop talking,” she says taking the diploma out of his hands and dropping it onto the hood of her car.

He does - finally (after spluttering over several half words). She pulls him forward, clutching his ridiculous rumpled graduation gown.  He steps on her foot and is in the middle of apologizing before she shuts him up with her lips.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, so she lets him go. Keeps her eyes closed, because maybe this is how it ends, with her broken heart in his hands. Maybe too much time has passed after all.

But then he moves with intent, his hands on her hips pushing her up against her car. She has to stand on tip toes to reach his lips. He presses into her and groans something like _fuck, Lydia_ on her skin, and she knows exactly what he means. And then, against her collarbone, _you waited how long to tell me this?_ His hands are in her hair, his lips on hers and the world goes bright. Her head is brushing the stars. Her fingers are skimming destiny.


End file.
